A Dame Like That
by chocolatequeen
Summary: Alias meets 1940s detective film noir... a little bit of AU, a little bit of humor, and a whole lot of scotch. Formerly titled The Femme Fatale.
1. The Damself in Distress

Title: A Dame Like That  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Who has been spreading rumors about me?? Of course I don't own them!!  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Genre: AU/parody  
  
Summary: Alias meets 1940s film noir. The story is told completely from Vaughn's POV.  
  
Dedication: I want to dedicate this one to my favorite cyber family, my cousin Nadja whose "husband" I keep stealing, my other cousins C, Amanda, Tina, and Julia (Jewls is a cousin right?), our grumpy neighbor CA, and especially Auntie Lijo who gave me the idea in the first place.  
  
Act 1  
  
I remember that day like it was yesterday. She walked into my office with her soulful brown eyes, and nothing's been the same since.  
  
It was a dreary day, dank and rainy. I was busy working on a case when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up, and there she was—by far the best looking dame I'd ever laid eyes on. She had the lithe figure of a gymnast and light brown hair falling to her shoulders. But what held my attention was her eyes—eyes that looked like they had seen too much, too fast. What could give a dame like this eyes like that? A soft "drip, drip" pulled me out of my trance, and I realized she was standing in a puddle of rainwater, waiting for me to say something. "Hang your jacket on the hook and have a seat, Toots," I told her gruffly. She complied silently and we resumed our staring contest.  
  
Finally I had to look away. Her eyes… I felt like she was looking right through me. Clearing my throat, I asked, "So what brings a classy dish like yourself to this part of town?"  
  
"I have a situation that needs your skills," she replied, her voice a strange mix of silk and steel. I merely raised my eyebrow—the left one—in a gesture for her to go on, and she did. "I'm being followed by someone, someone who wants something that I have."  
  
"What do you have that someone else would want?" I asked. She'd piqued my curiosity. I prided myself on being able to judge people, and she didn't seem like the type of broad who would be getting herself into a pickle like this, the kind of situation I find myself in everyday, situations where people are slimy and the places are seedy… Oh well, no skin off my nose—I'm paid to do the job.  
  
"That's not important," she responded tersely. "All you need to know is that it's vital that this person does not get what they are after. Can you do that?" she asked me bluntly.  
  
The lack of faith in her words and tone burned my britches. I was tempted to tell her then and there just where she could take her mystery item, but something about her held me in check. It could have been her sweet smile, or the way her hair fell across her face, I can't say. All I know is that I surprised even myself when I agreed. "Sure thing doll face. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll get right on it."  
  
"I need you to have surveillance done on two people. Myself, to see if you can catch the person who's following me, and my one suspect…" She opened up her purse and withdrew a picture. "This man—my father." How she managed to say that without so much as a tremor in her voice or a flicker across her face I still don't know. At that moment, my admiration of her raised ten points.  
  
"Okay doll, I'll have my partner Eric follow your father and I'll follow you. Just let us know when and where and we'll be there."  
  
She rose from her chair and I followed suit. "I'll be in touch," she said. As she was walking out the door, it hit me that I didn't know her name—I had been too entranced to ask before. I ran after her, but it was too late. She had disappeared into the mist.  
  
After she left I lit a cigarette—I always think better with a cigarette in hand. This dame was a jumble of contradictions; by looking at her you take her for a soft, sweet, feminine little thing. But just one word out of that mouth and you know she's not. She's the kind of broad who would drop you like a hot potato if you didn't do her bidding. I took a long drag and blew the smoke out, contemplating what to do next. It didn't take long, as I couldn't do anything until she let me know what was up.  
  
Grinding out my light, I yelled to my partner. "Weiss, a dame was just in here with a job for us. Get in here for a minute and I'll tell you about it." Opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I pulled out my bottle of scotch and poured two shots. He walked in and picked one up, drinking it in one swallow before sitting down. Leaning back in the chair, he swung his feet up on my desk and waited with that look of expectation. After downing my own scotch, I began.  
  
"Ok, here's the deal. The dame thinks someone is following her. Apparently they're after something she has, she wouldn't tell me what. Our job is to find out what it is. She thinks it might be this man," I tossed the picture of her father down in front of him. "Find out everything you can about him."  
  
"Righto. What's his name?" Weiss asked languidly, still not moving from his relaxed position.  
  
"You tell me and we'll both know," I answered.  
  
"You don't know his name? What about the dame?"  
  
"I don't know that either," I admitted. "But it doesn't matter, because she's coming back to us when she's ready for this thing to go down." Weiss just looked at me incredulously, and I shrugged my shoulders. "You'll understand when you meet her—she's a dame like no other. She's calling the shots in this little shindig, and we just have to wait for her."  
  
Shaking his head, Weiss stood and headed for the doorway, picture in hand. Stopping for a moment, he glanced at me over his shoulder. "Hey Vaughn, next time this dame shows up, try not to lose your marbles so you don't forget to talk turkey," he said cheekily and walked out into the rain.  
  
I tried to come up with a good retort, but it was pointless—he'd already left the building. Even if he'd still been there, I would have had to admit that he was right. I took a case from a client without even mentioning our fee. What kind of spell had this broad weaved over me? Pouring another glass of scotch, I resolved to put her out of my mind for the rest of the day.  
  
It worked too. By the end of the evening, "Sweet thing" as I'd named her, was only a blurry memory. I'd gotten my other pending cases cleared off my desk and it was time for the weekend. I grabbed my coat and headed out into the deluge, not knowing that this weekend would be different from any other. I should have remembered that a sweet dame like that could mean only one thing: trouble. 


	2. Death and Taxes

Title: The Femme Fatale, part 2/7  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Hm? You want to sue me? Ok, you can have… checks her wallet my old driver's license and a chewing gum wrapper. 'Kay? I don't own them, I never will… although I tease my poor cousin about Vaughn all the time.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: AU… I always told people I had my own little world.  
  
Archiving: Just ask  
  
Summary: Alias/film noir… just read it, hot stuff.  
  
Translation note: "Round heel" is 1940s slang for prostitute.  
  
Act 2—Death and Taxes  
  
Stepping into the gin joint Weiss and I frequent, we blinked, willing our eyes to focus in the smoke filled interior. We stepped up to our usual place at the bar, nodding at a few acquaintances as we sat down on the worn barstools. "We'll have the regular, Gus," I told the bartender as he poured two glasses of scotch and left the bottle between us. The routine was a familiar one for all of us.  
  
We'd been there all of five minutes when a familiar face sidled up next to Weiss. Lola. Running one hand up and down his arm, she slipped the other inside his jacket.  
  
In her breathy voice, the round heel whispered in his ear, "Hey big fella, haven't seen you around lately."  
  
I felt, rather than saw, his grimace at her close proximity. He had as little tolerance for the dark haired Mexican beauty as I did. Swallowing the rest of his scotch, he poured himself another before he answered her. "Maybe that's because I haven't wanted to be seen, Lola."  
  
She recoiled from him as his blunt reply registered in her liquor soaked mind. "Fine! "It's no trouble to me if you want to miss the best party in town," she spat out. Stroking his right cheek with her hand one last time, just to let him know what he was missing out on, she turned and flounced away from the bar.  
  
After her grand exit, I turned to catch Weiss' matching grin. "How many weeks in a row is this?" I asked.  
  
"Fourteen. Do you think she'll get the hint?"  
  
"Naw… and if she did, it'd ruin the fun of 'reminding' her every week."  
  
We were still laughing when I heard another familiar voice, this one huskier than the first and more purposeful. "Hello boys, have I caught you at a bad time?"  
  
Slowly I turned to look at the brunette. This gentleman definitely did not prefer blondes. I let my eyes wander over her features, and felt my mouth quirk into a smile as she returned the favor. When I'd finished my perusal, I said, "Hello again Sweet Thing. This is my partner Weiss. Weiss, this is..."  
  
"The broad without a name," he finished for me. "What can we do for you?"  
  
She looked around furtively, taking in the other characters patronizing the dive. "Not here." In silent agreement we rose from our barstools, tossing a wad of bills down on the counter to cover the tab. As we reached the door, she suddenly turned. "Oh, and boys... the name's Sydney," she said and stepped into the night. Following her lead, we went to a cab that was waiting outside the door, ducking against the rain as we climbed inside.  
  
The drive took at least a half hour. More than once in that time I wondered if I was off my rocker, going off with some broad I didn't know, but something about her made me trust her—the same something that had urged me to take the case. There was a look in her eye… I knew she'd deny it if confronted, but she needed help, and I could never resist a dame in need.  
  
Finally, the cab pulled to a halt in front of an old cottage on the outskirts of town. "This your place?" Weiss asked nonchalantly as we got out of the vehicle. Both of us began scanning the terrain, taking in the locale. You never know when there might be a couple of goons lurking in the background. Satisfied that the area was secure, we followed her inside.  
  
"It was my mother's," Sydney replied as she led us into the living room. "I come here when I need to think or be alone… I guess it's mine now though, she died some time ago." Obviously uncomfortable with the personal turn the conversation had taken, she stepped into the kitchen and said, "Would anyone else like a cup of coffee?" Although we were both anxious to get this show on the road, we acquiesced and a few minutes later I found myself sipping a liquid that was so disgustingly weak and sugary that it didn't deserve to be called coffee. "I hope you don't mind, I like my coffee sweet," she commented as she returned to the other room.  
  
Without waiting for an answer from us, she went directly to a desk sitting against the wall. It was an old roll top desk, the type you remember your father sitting at to take care of his correspondence. Opening the top drawer, she flipped a tiny lever hidden on the underside of the desktop. This opened the second drawer on the right, revealing a secret compartment, which was empty. She didn't even bother to answer the looks of confusion on our faces as she reached for the bottom of the drawer and lifted it out—even the secret compartment had a false bottom. I let out a low whistle at that, and she smiled briefly as she pulled a stack of papers out for us to look at. "This is what I wanted to show you. Do you recognize the men in these pictures?"  
  
We flipped through them quickly, growing more astonished with each shot. Benny the Bull, Jimmy Garcia, Carlo "Bullets" Vincini… they were all here. Some of the most dangerous and most well known men in the underworld, caught in some very compromising moments. I couldn't believe it—there was a picture of Jimmy watching someone get cement shoes, one of Benny fingering cash that from the printing on the side of the bag had obviously come from the bank heist at 42nd and Lowne, there was even a mug of Carlo mowing down rivals with a machine gun. "Crimeny Sydney! How'd you get these?" I asked incredulously.  
  
"I found them on my father's desk." Taking in our shocked looks, she continued. "About a week ago he invited me over for dinner and said he'd help me do my taxes. So I brought over my paperwork, and we had a nice meal. Afterwards, we filled out all the forms and put them in a file labeled "Taxes." It was still early, so we had a cup of coffee before I came home. When I left, I grabbed the folder out of his office on my way out.  
  
"Two days later, I noticed someone was following me—always turning at the same place I did, appearing in the same stores. I didn't think much of it until I came home yesterday and found my apartment had been trashed. That was when I knew that someone wanted something I had, but I had no clue what it could be. Then this morning I went to mail my taxes and found those pictures in the folder instead. I brought them here, taking care to lose the tail on the way, and then went straight to you."  
  
"Why me?" I asked somewhat stupidly. If a broad has faith in you, don't question her reasoning Vaughn, I berated myself silently.  
  
"Because I'd heard you were the best." I looked her in the eye and realized there was something she wasn't telling me. I gave her my best probing look until she had to look away. "I'd also heard that your father was killed on a mafia hit, and I figured you'd welcome the chance to take some of them down," she admitted finally.  
  
I drew in a deep breath at that. This dame doesn't pull any punches! My pop's murder had always been a sore spot with me. I had an itch to make it right, and here she hands me an opportunity on a silver platter. "Well you're half right anyway, Sweet Thing," I said as I tucked the pictures in my coat pocket. "I am the best." 


	3. The Late Night Caller

Title: The Femme Fatale, part 3/7  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Considering that I live from paycheck to paycheck, I doubt I own much of anything, must less a TV show. Alias et al belongs to ABC and all those guys.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archiving: Just ask  
  
Summary: Alias/film noir… whadaya think it's gonna be like, wise guy?  
  
Section 8 material: You're nuts, what you've just said makes no sense.  
  
Act 3—The Late Night Caller  
  
I was beat by the time I reached my pad. It had taken two hours to nail down all the specifics of the case, and then there was the 30 minute drive back into the city. Yessiree, it was time to hit the sack.  
  
But the moment I walked in my door, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Something was wrong. I reached for my gun as I turned on the light, only to hear a man's voice say, "I wouldn't recommend doing that, Mister Vaughn."  
  
Blinking a moment at the unaccustomed brightness, I took in the stranger sitting in my living room, holding a glass of scotch. "Ok wise guy, who are you and what are you doing in my place?"  
  
"Why don't you have a seat?" he suggested, gesturing to the other chair with his half empty glass.  
  
"How hospitable of you," I mocked. Nevertheless, I took the seat he indicated and poured a glass of scotch for myself. Something told me I'd need it before the night was out.  
  
"My name's Jack Bristow. I believe you are acquainted with my daughter, Sydney."  
  
I did a double take. This was Syd's dad? Now how's that for a nice turn around—the suspect coming to the detective instead of the other way around. "Hello Mister Bristow. I'd tell you to make yourself at home but since you already have, why don't you just tell me why you're here."  
  
"I know that my daughter approached you this morning about a certain item, an item which could be highly dangerous if found on her person." He paused for a moment, looking for a reaction. I just stared at him blankly, or at least I hoped I did. Continuing, he said, "I also know that she believes that I am the one behind the attempts to retrieve this item, which makes sense considering she found it on my desk."  
  
Cutting in, I said, "I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about Bristow, so if you'd care to let me sleep…"  
  
"I could do that Mister Vaughn, but then we wouldn't be able to talk and that is not acceptable. Would it help matters any if I told you that I am not the one chasing my daughter and ransacking her apartment, that the true culprit is a vicious, hardened criminal, and that I'm prepared to help you catch him? I'm counting on you to keep her safe, are we clear on that?"  
  
"Oh yeah, clear as mud sir. So let me get this straight. Your daughter, whom I supposedly met today, has some sort of 'item' on her that some nasty fellows might want to get their hands on. Of course, she believes you're behind it but you're not really. And let's not forget it's my job to keep your precious little girl safe. Have I got that? Sounds like section 8 material to me," I scoffed.  
  
"Let's cut to the chase Vaughn. I know why she came to you today and then again tonight, I know she showed you the pictures this evening, I even know that she took you to that cottage of her mother's to do so. And if I know you can bet that I'm not the only one that knows."  
  
"Well if you know so much, then why don't you tell me who it is that is chasing her, if it isn't you?"  
  
"I don't know, not for sure, but I have my suspicions."  
  
"Well how's about you clue me in, considering that you want me to keep her safe. It might be a little easier if I had a name to go with this faceless bad guy," I retorted sarcastically. This guy was really getting on my nerves—breaking into my place, drinking my scotch, telling me what to do, and keeping me up when I really wanted to go to bed.  
  
He allowed himself an grim smile and said, "I can't be sure, but if I were a betting man, I'd lay odds on my boss, Arvin Sloane."  
  
"The local crime boss? The one who single-handedly ran both Gambino and Catucci out of LA? That Arvin Sloane?"  
  
"Is there another?"  
  
"He's your boss, but you expect me to believe that you're not behind the attempts to get the pictures back?" I asked incredulously.  
  
Jack Bristow gave a long-suffering sigh. "Pay attention Mister Vaughn, and be careful that you don't breathe a word of what I'm about to say to anyone except for my daughter and your partner. I work for Arvin Sloane, but only as a cover. My real boss is J. Edgar Hoover."  
  
"J. Edgar… You're a G-Man?"  
  
"I'm an agent with the FBI, yes. For the past five years my assignment has been to go deep cover into Sloane's establishment, getting dirt on other players inside the organized crime racket. I caught a major break a few months ago, when opportunities to take those pictures started appearing. While Arvin Sloane may be a big fish here, he's small potatoes compared to some of the men in those pictures. I kept the pictures in a file on my desk, labeled taxes. But I'm sure you know that already," he smirked.  
  
"Talk about bringing home the bacon," I muttered to myself.  
  
"Yes I admit that might not have been the wisest move, but I didn't expect Sydney to walk off with them. And really Mister Vaughn, what was I supposed to do with them? Leave them lying around Sloane's so he could find them?"  
  
"I suppose you have a point there," I admitted reluctantly. I really did not like this man, even though I found myself believing what he said. "So what's the plan?"  
  
"Simple. I'll give you enough dirt on Sloane that you can take him down. Your primary job though is to keep Sydney safe. It should be easy to keep her focus distracted so she doesn't realize Sloane is the actual target. I doubt she'll wholly believe I'm not the villain she perceives me to be, so she'll probably resist ignoring me completely."  
  
"Why is she so venom on you?" I asked curiously. It was a question I'd been pondering all day, since she'd laid down that picture and said "This man—my father," in that dispassionate voice.  
  
He flushed a little before replying. "I'm afraid Sydney and I aren't on the best of terms. Our relationship has been rocky at best since the death of her mother several years ago, but since I took this assignment it's done a nose dive. I wanted to keep her safe from Sloane and his goons, so I've distanced myself from her. In fact, that dinner last week was the first real contact we've had in at least six months… this is exactly what I didn't want to happen."  
  
I contemplated this for a moment and then made a suggestion. "Maybe it would be better if I didn't tell her about this at all." I could tell by his look that he didn't understand where I was going with this, so I hastened to explain. "She already thinks you're the devil's own, so to speak, so she's not likely to accept looking anywhere else, especially not at your suggestion. But if I tail you tomorrow and you and I hammer out the plans for Sloane…"  
  
"Then you could have them rendezvous with us someplace and we could go over it together, just before it goes down. Keeps her away from Sloane as long as possible, gives her little time to balk at our plans... not bad Mister Vaughn."  
  
"Thank you," I said. "Now if you don't mind I'd like to get to bed."  
  
"Of course. I can see myself out," he said with a trace of humor as he walked out the door. 


	4. The Usual Suspects

Title: A Dame Like That, part 4/8  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Considering that I live from paycheck to paycheck, I doubt I own much of anything, must less a TV show. Alias belongs to ABC et al.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archiving: Just ask  
  
Summary: Alias/film noir  
  
Snafu—Situation Normal All Fouled Up  
  
Act 4: The Usual Suspects  
  
When I got to the office the next morning, Sydney was there waiting for me. What is it with this family? I asked myself. Do they have something against calling before they show up? Taking off my limp, wet fedora I hung it up on the coat rack next to my trench coat before turning to her. "Morning Sydney," I said politely as I stepped over to the coffee pot. Mornings were not designed to be handled without coffee, especially not wet, miserable ones like this one. Briefly I wondered if the sun was ever going to shine again, but I turned my groggy mental faculties over to making a decent pot of coffee.  
  
Five minutes later, the smell of coffee permeated the small office. I poured two cups and handed one to her. She took a cautious sip of the strong brew and wrinkled her nose. "This coffee tastes horrible. I thought you knew the way I liked it. Now go get me a new cup and make it quick," she demanded.  
  
"Whoa Dollface! Do I look like your maid? Besides, it's not my fault that you wouldn't know a good cup of joe if it came up and bit you on the nose." She simply sighed and rolled her eyes as she proceeded to dump half the contents of my sugar bowl into her cup. "Take a little coffee with your sugar?" I asked incredulously.  
  
"Enough with the snide remarks Vaughn. What's on the agenda for today?"  
  
"You know the drill Sweet Thing. Weiss follows you, I follow your dad, we compare notes at the end of the day." And try to catch a mafia boss all before lunch, I added to myself.  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"That's it," I confirmed, willing myself not to squirm under her penetrating gaze.  
  
"I get the feeling you're not being square with me Vaughn. You wouldn't happen to have a suspect up your sleeve that you're not telling me about, now would you?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
"Not specifically," I hedged, "but I am willing to pursue other avenues. There's a list three miles long of people who would want to lay their hands on those pictures, starting with the people who are in them."  
  
"I suppose you're right," she admitted reluctantly. "But I still think my dad is behind it."  
  
"Says you, but we'd be pretty poor excuses for detectives if we ignored everything else. So you and Weiss have a good time today while I follow your father. Ah, speaking of my erstwhile partner…" I said as Weiss walked in the door, dripping wet.  
  
"It's raining." Weiss had a thing for stating the obvious. "Doesn't it ever stop raining in this city?" he complained.  
  
"Not this week my friend. Are you ready to play Miss Bristow's shadow for the day?"  
  
"Ready as I'll ever be. Let's get this show on the road, doll," he said and started for the door.  
  
"Hold on a sec Weiss. Sydney, why don't you go ahead and get started. I need to talk to Weiss for a moment, he'll catch up with you later."  
  
"Sure thing Vaughn. But before I go, promise me something."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"If you get a lead, you'll share it with me."  
  
I opened my mouth to tell her no, but then I made the mistake of looking her square in the eye, and I couldn't do it. "You bet Sweet Thing," I heard myself saying. With a satisfied smile, she opened up her umbrella and left the office.  
  
"So what's the deal Vaughn?" Weiss asks as soon as the door closes behind her.  
  
"The story's changed a little Weiss. Jack Bristow was waiting for me when I got home last night."  
  
"So did he confess?" he asked cheekily.  
  
"No, he pointed me in a different direction."  
  
"Well that's a big surprise. Like he's going to come to your pad and bare his soul to you. Of course he's going to point a finger someplace else. But just for the sake of argument, who did he implicate?"  
  
"Arvin Sloane."  
  
"Well he's no fool of the western world. At least he was smart enough to finger a mafia member. So what's the big to do Vaughn? You're not taking him seriously are you?"  
  
I took a deep breath before telling him the rest of the story. "Bristow is FBI, undercover in Sloane's establishment."  
  
Weiss let out a low whistle at that. "Well if that isn't a snafu!"  
  
"Tell me about it," I agreed grimly. "So here's the deal. You're going to follow Sydney, as planned. I'm going to 'follow' Bristow, but we'll really meet to lay the groundwork in a plan to get our hands on Sloane. When we meet back here after hours, I'll let you in on our plans, but we can't let Syd know about her father or she'll never go for it."  
  
"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" he asked skeptically.  
  
"Would you rather we told her and let her blow our plans out of the water?"  
  
"Alls I'm saying is a dame like that doesn't like to be left in the dark."  
  
"You don't think I know that? But desperate times call for desperate measures. This is the only chance we have to convince Sydney to go with our plan to go after Sloane. I suggest we take it."  
  
Weiss nodded reluctantly and headed toward the door. "All right then, I'm going to start tailing Sydney. But before I go, I have a suggestion. Check out Bristow's story, see if he's on the up and up." I nodded in agreement and he stepped into the rain. 


	5. The Sting

Title: A Dame Like That, 5/8  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Oh yes, I am really a television mogul disguised as a lowly Target employee… Puh-lease! Alias belongs to ABC et al.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archiving: Just ask  
  
Summary: Alias/film noir…  
  
FiBbIe: Yet another nickname for an FBI agent  
  
Act 5: The Sting  
  
I picked up the phone as soon as Weiss left the office. He was right, I had to check out Bristow's story, and I knew just the guy who could help me. Every good private eye has a list of inside sources, and I am no different. An old friend of mine belonged to the Bureau. If anyone could give me the skinny on Jack Bristow, Teddy could.  
  
Dialing his direct line, I waited impatiently for him to pick up. "Ted Grissom here," his familiar gravely voice finally answered.  
  
"Teddy, how're ya doing?" I asked.  
  
"Vaughn, it's been a long time man. How's life in the private sector treating you?"  
  
"Oh, it's not bad. Not as interesting as being an agent of course." I waited for his typical reaction—Teddy always scoffed at the people who seemed to think like life of a G-man was all glitz and glamour.  
  
He didn't disappoint me. Laughing, he said, "Oh yeah, my life is so fascinating… investigating the mountain of paperwork that's taken residence on my desk. So, any interesting cases lately?"  
  
"Actually that's why I'm calling." I paused for a moment, coiling the phone cord around my fingers. "I need you to look someone up for me Teddy, a guy who claims to be with the Bureau."  
  
"Sure, give me the name."  
  
"Jack Bristow." For the first time since I've known him, Teddy went completely silent. After a few minutes, I wondered if we'd gotten disconnected. "Teddy? You still there?" I asked.  
  
"I'm still here… Jack Bristow?"  
  
"That's the name. He has a daughter named Sydney, lives here in LA... you know him?"  
  
"Yeah, I know him. Damn Vaughn, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he asked quietly.  
  
"It's a long story Teddy. Just tell me straight up: Is Bristow working for the FBI?"  
  
"Oh yeah, you'd better believe it! He's one of our best operatives. Apparently you know enough that I can ask you this question. Is your gig going to blow his cover?" Teddy asked seriously.  
  
"I don't know Teddy… I sure as hell hope not, but I can't guarantee anything. If it comes down to saving his cover or saving his daughter, I think he'd pick Sydney."  
  
"Probably. I guess I'd better have an extraction team ready. Vaughn, be careful."  
  
"I will Teddy," I promise him. "Talk to you later."  
  
"Later," he says and hangs up.  
  
I looked pensively at the phone for a moment. Teddy sure seemed uptight about this whole Bristow thing. For a brief second I wondered if I was in over my head, but I shoved that thought out of my mind and put the phone down. It was time to go find Bristow.  
  
I pulled on my trench coat and fedora and glanced out the window at the rain. I turned to grab my umbrella, but something caught my eye. There, across the street at the newspaper stand, was Jack Bristow. I smiled cynically—of course a FiBbIe would never leave anything up to chance. Covertly catching his eye as I stepped out of the building, I began to walk in his general direction.  
  
Taking the cue, he paid for the paper he'd bought and putting it under his arm, began to walk away from me purposefully. I followed him at a fair distance, stopping to look in a window or greet someone on the street every now and then—basically doing everything possible to not look like I was following him. I smiled briefly to myself when I realized I was playing cat and mouse with a fed.  
  
The smile disappeared however when I turned a corner and realized I'd lost him. I wandered a few yards more down the street, wondering what I should do now. Then before I fully registered what was happening, a hand reached out of an abandoned storefront and pulled me inside. Whirling around to confront my captor, I found myself face to face with Jack Bristow.  
  
"Bristow! What do you think you're doing?" I half yelled at him.  
  
"Where did you think we were going to talk? At a small sidewalk café, over a cup of coffee? This is the only way."  
  
I glared up at him for a moment, still displeased by the way he'd gone about it. "Yeah, well you could have told me what to expect, Hot Shot," I complained.  
  
There it was again—that long suffering "I don't believe I have to put up with this" sigh. I could come to hate that sigh very quickly, I think. "Focus Mister Vaughn! We have a sting to plan."  
  
I brightened a little at that. "You have some good info then?" I asked.  
  
"Yes, Sloane came to me earlier this morning with details on a job going down tonight. Can you be ready by then?"  
  
"If the pope Catholic?" I retorted. "We'll be ready, just give me the lowdown."  
  
"Okay, here's the deal. He's meeting with one of his hired guns tonight at a warehouse on Leeson street—you know the one, down by the marina?"  
  
"Yeah, I know the place. How many men will he have there?"  
  
"Just the one. I got the feeling that he's giving one of his less valued employees a retirement party, if you get my drift."  
  
"I'm following. So when's this little get together going down?"  
  
"Tonight at 10:00. It should be easy to scare off the gunman, leaving Sloane alone. Once you've taken him in, call me. I can't be there of course or my cover would be blown."  
  
"Of course. Hey Jack, what happens if Sloane says he didn't do it?"  
  
"Then find out who did. He knows, I'm sure of that much."  
  
"How can you be so positive?"  
  
"Because today when we were talking, he tried to warn me that Sydney was in danger. 'Jack, tell your daughter to be careful what she gets involved with,' he said to me. 'You wouldn't want anything to happen to her now would you?"  
  
I nodded slowly. "So he knows. Hopefully we can have this mess taken care of by tonight then Jack."  
  
"Hopefully. I'll see you later," he said, turning to the door. "Oh and Vaughn? Try to look… defeated when you leave. It'll keep the suspicions down." With a quick twist of his mouth that I supposed was a smile, he disappeared out the door.  
  
"Try to look defeated, he says," I muttered to myself. "Just how am I supposed to do that?" Sighing, I opened the door and stepped out, shoulders slouched and head down. "Defeated," I reminded myself. "Gotta look defeated."  
  
Apparently, I succeeded at "Operation Look Defeated" because I made it to the office without anyone approaching me. Glancing at my watch as I sat down, I groaned when I realized I still had an hour before first Sydney and then Weiss would be back. Leaning back in my chair, I pulled an old coin out of the top drawer of my desk and started playing with it. I always needed to have something in my hands to think; some days, like yesterday, it was a cigarette; and some days it was this old coin of my pop's.  
  
Rolling it on the back of my hand and flipping it in the air, I went over the details of the case. Fact 1: Sydney Bristow is in possession of incriminating pictures of men in the underworld. Fact 2: She's being followed by someone, presumably one of Sloane's goons. Fact 3: Someone broke into her place, looking for the pictures. Fact 4: She thinks it's her dad, but he's really a good guy.  
  
I grabbed the coin out of the air and pondered that for a moment. Why was she so certain it was her dad? Mister Bristow had alluded to some family problems, but what could have happened between them that would cause her to believe something like this about her own father? It was something to explore when she got back in 25 minutes.  
  
I went back to the case where I had left off. Fact 5: Jack Bristow thinks Arvin Sloane is the one having his daughter followed. Fact 6: Sloane warned Bristow to keep his daughter safe earlier today. That certainly seems to verify fact 5, but something was bothering me. If it was really Sloane, why would he give Jack a warning? But Jack was right about one thing, even if it wasn't him, he knew who it was.  
  
Right in the middle of my musings, the office door flew open. I looked up, startled, and saw Sydney standing in front of me. Glancing down at my watch I realized that it was time. "Hey Vaughn," she said with a smile. "How was your day?"  
  
"Not bad Sydney, what about you? Did you and Weiss get your man?" I teased.  
  
"Nope, that's up to you, remember?"  
  
"Of course, how could I forget." I paused for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, I decided to just ask her. "Syd, there's something I need to know. Outside of the obvious evidence, what makes you so certain that your dad is behind this? There must be something… personal between the two of you."  
  
Several expressions crossed her face: hurt, surprise, sadness, even a little anger. Then she put on a neutral face and looked me in the eye. There it was again—the look in her eyes that had caught me that first moment. So much pain, I didn't know if I could handle it. "Are you sure you want to know the answer to that Vaughn?" she asked quietly.  
  
And right then, I made a decision. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to hear her story, but something in her voice said she needed to tell it. "Yeah, I'm sure. What's the story?"  
  
"When I was little, I thought I had the perfect family. My mom loved me and my dad took care of me. He was like Super-Dad, always there to save the day. I have so many happy memories…" She looked off into space for a moment before snapping back to attention. "Anyway, that all changed. One day my mom… my mom died. She was coming home from the grocery store and slid on an icy patch of road. My dad changed after that, he became distant and cold… no more Mom, no more perfect family."  
  
"What was your mom's name?" I asked gently.  
  
She glanced up at me, almost surprised to see me there. "Laura… her name was Laura," she replied after a moment.  
  
"Did Laura look anything like you?"  
  
"No, not really. I don't remember much of what she looked like, all I have left are pictures and fuzzy memories. I know it's irrational, but I blame my father for that. After she died, he took down all the pictures of her and stored them up in the attic. I used to sneak up there at night with my flashlight and look at them. But after a while, without seeing her everyday, her face faded from my memory. I hated my father for taking away even my memories of her, it wasn't fair!"  
  
"I'm sorry," I replied, feeling inadequate to deal with the depth of emotion she displayed.  
  
Quickly, she controlled her features and pasted on a smile. "Don't be," she said. "It's not your fault. But I'm guessing you've found the culprit, and it wasn't my dad, right?"  
  
"Right you are. As soon as Weiss gets back I'll fill you both in." Just as I said that, my partner blew in the front door, bringing several gallons of rainwater with him.  
  
"Man, it's really coming down out there," he said as he hung up his trench coat and hat and flopped into the empty chair across from my desk. "So, are we ready for the strategy session?"  
  
"You're just in time. The man we're after is Arvin Sloane. He's a local crime boss, someone who's business would suffer if those pictures went public. I talked to my inside source, and he said that Sloane is giving someone a going away party tonight in a warehouse near the marina. He'll only have one gunman with him, so it'll be the perfect chance to get him."  
  
"Sounds good Vaughn…"  
  
"Sounds almost too good," Sydney interrupted. "How reliable is your source?"  
  
"100%. There is no way that he's wrong about this."  
  
"Okay, if you say so."  
  
"So when's this going down?" Weiss asked.  
  
"10:00 tonight, which leaves us… an hour and a half. It'll take at least a 45 minutes to get down there, plus we need to take Sydney home first so we ought to leave now."  
  
"Whoa whoa whoa, what do you mean take me home? You're not leaving me out of this one."  
  
"C'mon Syd, be reasonable. A job like this is no place for a dame like you."  
  
"Oh really? And what would be a good place for 'a dame like me?" The steam was beginning to come out her ears as she continued. "Are you one of those guys who thinks a woman belongs barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen? Well let me tell you Mister Vaughn, I am an independent woman. I have a job at a bank, I live alone, and I can take care of myself. So I am coming with you to the warehouse, are we clear?"  
  
"Crystal," I told her with resignation.  
  
She nodded with satisfaction and sat down to watch Weiss and I get ready. Opening up my bottom desk drawer, I pulled out my Colt revolver and a box of bullets. I started to load the gun when Sydney held out her hand. "I can do that," she said. At my look of disbelief, she shrugged and said, "I have a friend who's really into guns, he taught me a thing or too." Then she nailed me with a glance and said, "I told you I can take care of myself."  
  
Handing her the gun, I watched for a moment to be sure she wasn't pulling my leg. Once I was satisfied she knew what she was doing, I wandered over to the coffee pot and started a pot. When it was done percolating, I poured two cups and handed one to Weiss, who had just walked back into the front office. Catching Sydney's glance at the pot, I smirked and said, "I'd pour you a cup, but you don't like the way I make my coffee, remember Sweet Thing?"  
  
She grimaced and said, "You call that sludge coffee? It was more like turpentine."  
  
"Hey now, you offend a man's coffee, you offend him," I said jokingly.  
  
"Oh, my apologies Vaughn."  
  
"Hey you two, enough chit chat!" Weiss said as he roughly set his now empty mug back down on the table. "Are we ready to get this show on the road?"  
  
"More than ready," I responded and grabbed my coat. We all stepped outside and ran from the door to my car, which was parked on the street just a few feet away. The drive over was quiet, the only sound the soft swish-splosh of rain hitting the windshield and being swiped away by the wipers. I heaved a sigh of relief when the warehouse finally came into view. The nervous tension in the air was almost overwhelming.  
  
We parked a few blocks away and walked toward the building, keeping to the shadows. When we reached the door, I pulled Syd aside and whispered, "Weiss and I will take it from here, you stay put." Drawing my gun, I slowly opened the door, praying that it wouldn't squeak. I breathed out a sigh of relief when it was silent, and we went in.  
  
I heard two muted voices toward the back of the building. Gesturing to Weiss, I took the went down the right side and he went down the left. After a moment, three men came into view, one looking terrified sitting in a chair, one holding a gun and in general just looking menacing, and a third who had to be Sloane. You could almost feel the evil power radiating from his almost bald head.  
  
"So tell me, what am I supposed to do with you Billy?" Sloane asked. "You take a job, you mess up. Now once I could forgive, but this is the third time. That's not good for business, you know that. What would you do if you were in my position?" His voice was oily, almost making you believe that what he was saying made perfect logical sense.  
  
The poor schlub was almost in tears as he begged for his life. "I… I don't know Mister Sloane. I know I messed up, but I can do better. Please, I won't do it again."  
  
Sloane looked at the man coldly. "That's right Billy, you won't," he said and gestured to the gunman.  
  
That was Weiss' cue. "Hold it right there!" he yelled, jumping from the shadows and keeping his weapon trained on the goon. "I don't think you want to do that Sloane."  
  
"And why not?" he asked with a hint of amusement.  
  
"Because the cops are on their way, and it wouldn't do for them to find you here with a dead body, now would it?"  
  
Billy had taken this opportunity to start slinking into the shadows. As he passed me, I whispered, "Run Billy, if you know what's good for you." The kid took off like a shot.  
  
"Good, there were a few too many people at this party for my taste. Now why don't you tell your goon to take a hike," Weiss suggested.  
  
Eyes cold, Sloane stared at Weiss for a few minutes. Finally, he jerked his head toward his partner, indicating that he should leave. Weiss kept his weapon trained on him until he moved into the shadows—my realm. As soon as he was out of Weiss' line of vision, the sucker turned around and started to sneak back in. I jumped on him from the shadows, knocking him to the ground. Weiss whirled around at the commotion and Sloane turned to run away. "Weiss! Take care of this moron! I'll get Sloane," I shouted as I ran after the crime boss.  
  
  
  
AN: I'm sure you all caught my alternate universe moment here… In my little world, Sydney looks nothing like her mom. 


	6. The Interrogatoin

Title: A Dame Like That, 6/8  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: The closest I've ever come to owning a TV show was when I had that 5 inch TV in my room a few years ago… Alias belongs to ABC et al.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archiving: Just ask  
  
Summary: Alias/film noir…  
  
Act 6: The Interrogation  
  
"Stop right there, or I'll pump you full of lead," I threatened as Arvin Sloane moved to escape. The mafia boss froze in place and slowly turned toward me.  
  
"What do you want?" he sneered.  
  
"I want to know why you were having Sydney Bristow followed," I demanded.  
  
Confusion flashed across his face before he put on a neutral expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Oh sure you don't. Just like you don't know who it was that ransacked her apartment a few days ago, or who it was that was taking potshots at me when I was following her father earlier."  
  
"Oh no, I know who was shooting at you." His expression turned smug. "The question is, what are you willing to do to get the information."  
  
Cocking the hammer back on my revolver, I said, "No Sloane, the question is, what are you willing to give up to keep the information."  
  
He apparently decided that I was as good as my word, because he started to talk. "For 20 years, there's been an assassin working for all the different dons. They all trust her because she gets the job done, no questions asked. Some say she doesn't have a heart, I say she doesn't have a soul."  
  
"Yeah, so what's this mysterious assassin have to do with the price of eggs in China?"  
  
"When I found out about the pictures, I called Benny the Bull. He called Irene. There's been a hit out on Miss Bristow for the better part of the week. Frankly, I'm surprised she's still alive."  
  
"Well that's just swell. Can you tell us where to find this woman?" Sloane looked away, silently refusing to help us any farther. "Hey Weiss, come over here," I called.  
  
"What do ya need Vaughn?" he asked nonchalantly as he finished tying up the gunman.  
  
"Mister Sloane here doesn't want to help us find the assassin. Would you care to persuade him?"  
  
"My pleasure. Arvin, what do you think your friends are going to do to you when they find out you spent two hours with a couple of PIs?"  
  
"I haven't told you anything," he said with a scowl.  
  
"You haven't told us much," Weiss corrected. "But then, how would they know what you've told us? They'll be hearing about it second or third hand… what if they thought you'd ratted them out? A few well placed words to the right people, and they'd dropping you like a hot potato."  
  
"You wouldn't do that," he retorted, but his voice was less confident than it had been.  
  
"Are you so sure? The way I see it, you have two choices. You can either tell me what I need to know and I'll take you to the police station, where you'll be safe. Or you can keep your trap shut and I'll let you go after I let it slip to my snitch that you were a turncoat. How long do you think you'd survive on the street after that?"  
  
Sloane stared at Weiss for a few minutes, clearly weighing his options and trying to decide if we were serious. "Okay, you win," he finally relented. "I'll tell you what you need to know, only after you take me downtown."  
  
Weiss shook his head. "No deal Sloane. If we tell you at the station, the cops will want to get involved in this and you and I both know they're so incompetent that the target would get away."  
  
"And what guarantee do I have that you won't cut me loose if I tell you now?" he asked defiantly.  
  
"You want guarantees, buy yourself a washing machine. You want to live, tell me where the shooter is."  
  
"Okay, you win," the mobster said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Her name is Irene Delancey, direct from Chicago. She doesn't come to LA very often, but when she does, she always stays in the same place with her two guards, a little joint outside town." He saw our incredulous looks and shrugged, saying, "What can I say? She's a queer bird."  
  
"So tell us where this place is Sloane," I replied impatiently.  
  
"Fifteen miles southeast on the old highway. It's an old abandoned farmhouse with nothing nearby for cover of any sort—no other buildings or trees of any kind."  
  
"Well thanks for the tip Arvin old pal, we'll be sure to keep that in mind. Now let's get a move on guys."  
  
Weiss spoke up. "We need to call Jack," he said.  
  
Out of nowhere, I heard Sydney speak up. "My father? What does he have to do with this?" she asked.  
  
"We'll tell you later, and I thought I told you to stay outside," I replied, changing the topic in an attempt to save Jack's cover.  
  
"Yeah, well I never was one for following instructions," she said with a shrug.  
  
I merely shook my head at that. "Weiss, keep an eye on this joker while I call the proper authorities. Sydney, you come with me, for talk."  
  
I pulled Sydney outside and shut the warehouse door behind me. Tilting my hat in protection against the light drizzle, I stepped into the nearest phone booth. She followed me in out of the rain and then nailed me with those eyes. "Okay, spill it. What's my father got to do with all this?" she asked sternly.  
  
"Your father is a g-man," I told her bluntly. "He's been working within the mafia scene to take it down. I would have told you before but…"  
  
"You didn't think I'd believe you," she finished.  
  
"Pretty much, yeah. But now we need his help getting the shooter, and I thought you deserved to know."  
  
"Oh, how generous of you Vaughn," she said sarcastically. "And I suppose you expect me to be grateful to you for not telling me this earlier, or for deciding to clue me in now."  
  
"No, of course not," I retorted. "I expect you to be angry and bitter at me for keeping you in the dark about a situation that is very dangerous and could get you killed if the wrong person found out that you know. C'mon Sydney, your dad kept this from you for a reason. He didn't want you to have anything to do with men like Arvin Sloane, that's why he's been so distant with you. He's trying to protect you, and he asked me to do the same. I'm sorry if you don't like my methods."  
  
"No, I don't like your methods." She sighed and looked away before continued softly. "But I understand, and I appreciate the motivation. For both you and my father." When she looked back up at me, there were tears in her eyes. "It's just going to take some getting used to, you know? The thought that my dad is one of the good guys…" she wiped away the tears and forced a smile. "Hey, don't we have a call to make?"  
  
I flashed her a grin that I hoped was supportive. "We sure do Sweet Thing," I said, pulling Bristow's card out of my wallet. Dialing the number, I waited impatiently for the older man to pick up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Jack, it's Vaughn. Listen, we got the lowdown from Sloane. He's not directly responsible, although he was the whistleblower. He talked to his boss, who took out a hit on Sydney."  
  
"A name, Mister Vaughn, did he give you a name?"  
  
"Irene Delancey. She's some broad from Chicago…"  
  
"I know who she is, Mister Vaughn," Jack cut me off dully.  
  
"So are we ready to get this taken care of?"  
  
"No, we are not going to do anything. You are going to take my daughter back to her apartment and then go home. I will take care of Ms. Delancey myself."  
  
"I don't know if that's such a great idea Bristow. The way Sloane was talking she seems to be really…"  
  
"Don't argue with me Vaughn. Just leave this to me, I know what needs to be done better than you ever could." And with that, he hung up, leaving me staring at the receiver in bewilderment. What was that all about?  
  
"What is it? What did he say Vaughn?" Sydney's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.  
  
"He said to leave it alone."  
  
Her brow furrowed in confusion and she asked, "Why would he say something like that? Doesn't he want this to be over?"  
  
"Yeah… he said he'd take care of it himself, that we had no clue what was really going on."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Weiss asked as he walked up behind me.  
  
"Don't ask me, I'm as baffled as you are. Is Sloane tied up good?"  
  
"Oh yeah, real good. He won't be going anywhere. You call the cops yet?"  
  
"Haven't had a chance. I'm still trying to figure out what Jack meant."  
  
"I'll take care of it then." I wandered away from the phone booth, puzzling over Jack's reaction in my head. Earlier today, he had been treating this like a joint venture, what changed? As soon as he found out about Irene, he told me to stay out of it, that he would take care of it… it must be something about Irene.  
  
I walked back over to Weiss and Sydney just in time to hear him say, "Yeah officer, that's right. He's tied up, shouldn't give you any difficulty. No problem, it was our pleasure." Hanging up the phone, he looked at me and said, "You figure it out yet?"  
  
"I'm getting there. It was the name Irene Delancey that started him off. Sydney, does that name mean anything to you?"  
  
"No, nothing. I've never heard of her before."  
  
"Maybe it's just her reputation that he's worried about, but something tells me there's something more. I got the feeling that this was something personal between the two of them—Irene and your dad I mean—and he wanted to take care of it himself."  
  
"Is that a bad thing? I mean, if my dad is what you say he is, surely he can handle it."  
  
I shook my head, still trying to make sense of it all. "No, I don't think so. I have a hunch that he's going to be so wrapped up in his own personal vendetta or whatever it is that he won't be as objective as he could be, and that could get him killed."  
  
"Well then what are we waiting for? Let's go, he might need our help," Sydney said and started toward the car.  
  
"Whoa, hold your horses! He may need help, and Weiss and I will give it. But you are going back to your apartment, no arguments."  
  
She stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around to face me, heedless to the rain that was pelting down on her. "I thought we'd covered this, Vaughn," she said coldly. "This is my case, where it goes, I go."  
  
I stood my ground firmly. "Oh no you don't. Your dad wanted you left out of this, and knowing him he had a damn good reason. You bamboozled me into letting you come this far, but you are not going after Irene with us."  
  
She glared at me, and her normally warm brown eyes were like iced coffee. "Let me be as clear as I can, Mister Vaughn." I winced at the use of the Mister—she was steamed all right. "You will either take me with you, or I will hire a cab and follow you. Capishe?"  
  
"Yeah, I follow. Let's get this show on the road." Five minutes later, we were heading for the old highway, following the directions Sloane had given. I was already regretting letting Sydney come with us. Something inside me said that this was a bad idea, but really what choice did I have? She'd forced my hand when she threatened to come on her own. If she was going to be there at all, I preferred being able to watch out for her.  
  
About 20 miles outside of town, we started looking for the farmhouse. We passed mile after mile of sheer nothingness, and I was beginning to think Sloane had sent us on a wild goose chase. Then we went over another hill, and there it was.  
  
I turned off the lights and stopped the car about 500 yards away. For a few minutes we sat there, mentally assessing the area before going in. I couldn't see much, between the dark and the rain, but Sloane had been right about one thing—there was no cover. The ground between us and the house was almost barren, except for the fields around us that seemed to be full of nothing but weeds.  
  
The next thing I noticed was that Jack apparently wasn't here yet. This was a relief in a way, but I was puzzled for a moment before I remembered that he lived clear over on the other side of town, so it would take him longer to get here than it did us.  
  
The house itself was completely rundown. There was a gaping hole in the roof, the porch sagged, and a few of the shutters were clattering in the wind. This didn't seem like the hide out of a well-known assassin, and I could feel the doubt begin to churn in the pit of my stomach. Was this a ruse, an elaborate setup designed to get all of us out of the way?  
  
"Well are we going to go in, or sit here all night?" Sydney finally asked impatiently.  
  
Weiss and I shared a look, and I could tell he had the same misgivings I did. "Sydney, why don't you stay in the car while we see if this is legit," he said reasonably.  
  
"No! I'm no safer sitting out here than I am going in with you."  
  
"She has a point Weiss, she'd just be a sitting duck if we left her out here."  
  
"Okay then, which door are we going in?"  
  
I assessed each entry to the house. Front door—too obvious. Climbing through the broken windows—too noisy. But on the far left side of the building, I saw something promising. "We go in through the cellar," I said, pointing to the outside entrance.  
  
In silent agreement, we all stepped out of the car and silently crept across the empty land toward the door. I reached it first and grabbed the handle, pulling it open slowly. I took point, entering the house first. Before I went in, I motioned for Sydney to follow me, with Weiss bringing up the rear. If she was going to insist on going in, I wanted her between the two of us at all times. We were more likely to keep her safe that way.  
  
We made it to the bottom of the stairs without incident. Looking around, Weiss gestured to a door on the right, and I nodded in agreement. We'd only taken a few steps into the room when a woman's voice said, "I've been expecting you." The light flicked on, letting us see Irene for the first time. 


	7. The Showdown

Title: A Dame Like That, 7/8  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Considering that I live from paycheck to paycheck, I doubt I own much of anything, must less a TV show. Alias belongs to ABC et al.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archiving: Just ask  
  
Summary: Alias/film noir  
  
Act 7: The Showdown  
  
I could feel the color drain from my face when I saw her. That face… the face that has haunted my every nightmare for the last 20 years. Vaguely, I heard Syd's quick indrawn breath and I realized that it echoed my own. Looking over at me quickly, she asked, "Do you know her?"  
  
"Yeah… yeah I do," I told her. "I have very few memories of my dad, but I do know that he was a hero. He was in the FBI, working to take down the mob just like your dad Sydney. One day he and I were on our way home from a movie when I heard gunfire. I looked around to see what was going on, completely unafraid. I knew that whatever it was, my dad could keep me safe. Across the street, a woman—this woman—stood laughing for a moment before she got her in car and drove off. Then I looked down next to me and saw my dad… shot through the heart."  
  
By this point I was struggling to maintain my composure. Face to face with my father's killer, I felt the old tears threatening to spill down my face. I heard Sydney gasp again as I finished my story, and I glanced over at her. I could see the shock on her face and something else—disbelief and hurt maybe? But why would she… and then it clicked. "Syd, do you know her?" I asked.  
  
"She's… she's my mother," she replied brokenly.  
  
"Hello Sydney," Irene said with a smirk. "It's been a long time." Stunned, I looked from one woman to another. This was Laura Bristow? Sydney's mom? Laura Bristow was Irene Delancey? Syd's mom killed my dad?  
  
"Mom… why… I don't understand."  
  
"Of course you don't. You're too much like your father—always working for the right, placing honor above everything else. You don't see how a little money can go a long way toward easing a guilty conscience at night."  
  
"The money? You're just in it for the money? And what about when you left us? Did they pay you to do that too?" The pain in her voice was tearing me apart, but I was still reeling too much from my own revelation to be able to comfort her.  
  
"Oh no, that was my idea. You see, your dad was becoming suspicious of me… I suspect it was the Vaughn killing that really did it. I shouldn't have stood there like that, too many people saw me. But I was so enjoying the moment." She looked at me, eyes dancing with laughter. Enraged, I brought up my gun, aiming it straight at her heart.  
  
"I wouldn't recommend that if I were you Mister Vaughn. You can come out now Victor," she called. A huge hulk of a man stepped out from behind a second door that I hadn't even noticed until now. "Because you see, if you shoot me, then Victor will have to shoot your friend. And I'm afraid Mister Weiss won't be needing that weapon anymore… can you take care of that Micky?" Yet another man snuck in the door behind us and grabbed Weiss' gun out of his hands. "Now that only leaves you Michael—I can call you Michael, can't I?"  
  
Once again I felt the fury building inside me, but I tamped it down. Nodding curtly, I tossed my gun off to the side of the room. "What are you going to do with us now?" I asked bitterly.  
  
"I'm not going to do anything to you and your partner Michael. I don't need to. You won't be able to find me anyway, and no one is paying me to kill you. Sydney on the other hand… well, I'm afraid I just can't return to Chicago with you still running around, dear. You do understand don't you?"  
  
Sydney stared at her mother in mute horror. "You're going to kill your only child?" I asked unbelievingly.  
  
"Well yes, of course. That is what I was hired to do after all." Her words were bad enough, but the manner in which she spoke them made it worse. She acted as though it was nothing, planning to kill your daughter just for money. I felt sick inside, filled with the knowledge that it was over and she had won. I couldn't beat such a mercenary.  
  
"It's gotten a little cramped in here don't you think? Why don't we take this little party outside?" Irene suggested. Silently, we all ascended the stairs again and stepped into soft rain.  
  
Looking around, I noticed that Victor and Micky were no longer with us. Taking hope, I was planning a possible escape when I heard a familiar voice behind me.  
  
"That's far enough Laura."  
  
"Jack! So good of you to join us. Why, this is almost like a family reunion! Too bad I'm only here to kill Sydney, or this could have been time for some good catch up."  
  
"I can't let you do that, Laura—or should I call you Irene?" he asked bitterly. "That's your real name, your real identity isn't it? Tell me, did you ever really love me, or was I just a means to an end? Marry the FBI officer and get good information on who's ratting out the mafia, what officers we have working the inside, was that all it was?"  
  
"Well of course I married you for the information, but I will admit the rest of it was fun too. More fun than I ever thought it would be, let me tell you." As she spoke, Irene continued to edge away, taking Sydney with her.  
  
"I said that was far enough Laura," Jack said quietly, but with a hint of steel in his voice.  
  
"Oh Jack, what exactly do you plan to do?" She shifted her grip on Sydney and pressed the pistol tighter against her side. Sydney's cry of alarm reverberated across the lawn, and I could see the tenuous hold Jack had on his emotions snap at the sound of his daughter's pain.  
  
"After all, we both know you'll never have the guts to shoot me, the woman you once loved… you couldn't turn me in before, you won't be able to shoot me now."  
  
Overly confident, Irene backed closer to her car. Letting go of Sydney's right arm, she opened the door while holding on to her with her left hand. Once the door was open, hse grabbed Sydney and began to force her into the backseat of the car. Her progress was suddenly halted by one bullet, straight through the heart. Stunned, she looked up at Jack before she fell to the ground. He lowered his gun, saying, "I told you I would never let you take her from me."  
  
Paralyzed with shock and fear, Sydney stared down at her dead mother. Jack place his gun back in the holster and looked at her, a little unsure of how to proceed. "Sydney…" he started uncertainly.  
  
Startled, she shifted her gaze toward him. "Daddy?" she whispered as though seeing him for the first time. He stared back at her for a moment, then opened his arms to her. She ran into them, tears streaming down her face. "Daddy! I was so scared! She was going to kill me, oh Daddy I'm so sorry."  
  
"Shh… it's okay. I'm the one who should be apologizing Sydney. I never intended for you to find out about your mother. I tried so hard to protect you from all of this, from what I really do, and they almost got you anyway. I never would have forgiven myself if they'd hurt you."  
  
To my amazement, Jack Bristow was in tears as well. I guess being married to a dame like that could cause even the strongest heart to break. Silently, Weiss and I returned to the car, leaving them crying in the rain alone. 


	8. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship?

Title: A Dame Like That, 8/8  
  
Author: Chocolatequeen  
  
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Considering that I live from paycheck to paycheck, I doubt I own much of anything, must less a TV show. Alias belongs to ABC et al.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archiving: Just ask  
  
Summary: Alias/film noir… Capish?  
  
Act 7: The beginning of a beautiful friendship?  
  
It's been two months, and I haven't heard from her. I've tried to tell myself that I'm better off without her, but the truth is I miss her. There was just something about that dame… Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I return to my paperwork when a familiar shadow falls across my desk.  
  
"Hey, Big Shot, what's new in the detective world?" she asks softly.  
  
Damn… my heart's racing. Cool Vaughn, play it cool… "Not much Sydney, anything going on in world of banking?"  
  
"Oh, a defaulted loan here, an embezzlement scandal there… you know, same old same old."  
  
I notice that she hasn't taken her coat off or sat down, and my heart sinks. This may be one story that doesn't end in happily ever after. Still, I have to try. "Take a load off Sydney, you sound like you could use a break," I tell her.  
  
She shifts nervously and I know my instinct is right. "No, that's okay. I really just came to say thank you… and goodbye."  
  
"Why goodbye?" I ask even though I know the answer.  
  
"You know why Vaughn. Our lives… they're just too messed up to work. My mother killed your father for crying out loud!" I can't help but flinch at those words and the memories they bring up. But now joining those old memories are new ones—memories of Irene holding her gun on Sydney as she tried to back out of the warehouse, visions of what might have happened if Jack hadn't been able to get a shot off.  
  
"I'm sorry," she says softly as she turns toward the door. "Vaughn…"  
  
"I know. Now get out of here Sweet Thing." She nods imperceptibly and steps out the door.  
  
As I watch her figure disappear down the rain-swept street, I wonder why I let her go. The truth is, I know the answer to this question. A sweet dame like that and a hard-nosed detective like me… it'd never work, even if there weren't complications.  
  
Rubbing my forehead in frustration, I tell myself to put her out of my mind. She's gone, that's it. For a few minutes, I try to lose myself in my paperwork, but even that doesn't work. Lying there on top of the stack is a memo from the police department, thanking us for "assisting in the apprehension of a known felon." Yeah, well what they don't know or don't talk about is what happened later that night. "Make that two known felons, my friend," I mutter as I crumple the paper up and toss it in the trash can.  
  
I have to say I'm impressed with how she's handled this whole fiasco. Most women would have turned into a basket case after finding out about her family's shady past, but Sydney is no shrinking violet. She can handle anything life throws at her, even if it takes a while for her to regain her equilibrium.  
  
And then I come to a realization. This was not a goodbye, not really. Someday, somehow, I'll look up and see her standing there in front of my desk as if no time has passed. It might be next week, it might be next year, but she will come back. A dame like that always does.  
  
  
  
AN: That's the end! Thank you all for reading and a big thank you to my three betas—C, Lijo, and Shannon. This story would not have been half as good without their advice and feedback. 


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